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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27879977">Papercut</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirach/pseuds/Mirach'>Mirach</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>My Good Omens stories [14]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Papercuts, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:08:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,448</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27879977</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirach/pseuds/Mirach</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Aziraphale calls Crowley to tell him that he is hurt, the demon rushes to the bookshop to find a perfectly healthy angel - with the exception of a tiny papercut. But Crowley knows - it’s not about the papercut at all. The papercut is just an excuse.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>My Good Omens stories [14]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517162</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>181</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Good Omens OTP Prompts Event Works, Hurt Aziraphale</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Papercut</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the OTP prompts event with the prompt: “Crowley: I’ve got you now”</p><p>Betaed by kaiannanthi.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>2004</p><p>"Crowley, my dear… D-Do you mind coming over? I just hurt myself a bit and..."</p><p>Aziraphale's voice in the phone didn't even finish the sentence and Crowley was already in the Bentley, making a start that would put a Ferrari to shame.</p><p>A moment later, he rushed into the bookshop. He wasn't wearing sunglasses. His eyes were wide and wild, every muscle tense with worry, searching for…</p><p>…there he was. Aziraphale was sitting on the sofa and he looked perfectly fine. No blood visible anywhere. No paleness. His clothes in perfect order.</p><p>"Oh dear, I'm so glad you came," the angel said dramatically. "I got a papercut. And it was the Jeffrey Archer books, they're evil so it can't be miracled away…" He extended his finger towards Crowley, a suffering expression on his face. It looked like a finger. No injury could be seen from the distance Crowley was currently at.</p><p>"Oh," the demon said softly. His eyes returned to their usual appearance, the fear replaced with something else. Something… almost sad. The sunglasses were in his pocket, but he didn't put them on. Instead, he approached the angel and took Aziraphale's hand into both of his, like something incredibly delicate and precious.</p><p>Now the papercut could be seen - a hair-thin red line on the soft pad of the index finger.</p><p>Crowley made a compassionate sound. "I've got you, angel," he said and reached for a pillow to support the injured hand. Then he snapped his fingers and summoned a first-aid kit.</p><p>Aziraphale looked on the verge of tears as Crowley cleaned the cut, smeared it with an antiseptic cream and put a little adhesive plaster on the finger. It had little pictures of ducks on it.</p><p>"There," Crowley's fingers still lingered on Aziraphale's hand even after he was finished. "Should be better now. Why don't you lie down for a while, angel?"</p><p>"I shouldn't. So much to do…"</p><p>"But you're hurt. You deserve a break, the work won't go anywhere. Need me to cover some blessings for you?"</p><p>"No, no. Nothing urgent like that. You're right, the work can wait a bit. So you think I should…"</p><p>"Of course," Crowley already placed the pillow on the sofa and now knelt in front of Aziraphale. "May I take off your shoes?"</p><p>"Well…"</p><p>Crowley waited.</p><p>"Oh, okay. I guess I'll have a little lie-down. Can't hurt, right?"</p><p>Crowley nodded and took off the shoes, his hands firm and gentle.</p><p>Aziraphale put his head on the pillow and raised his feet on the sofa. A quilted blanket appeared from somewhere and covered him.</p><p>"Need anything else, angel?" Crowley asked.</p><p>"Well, since you're asking… I'd really like a cup of tea. The whole-leaf Assam, just a dash of milk and no sugar. Oh, and the chocolate soufflé from that little café on the corner, you know which one."</p><p>"I'll take care of it," Crowley said and picked up the phone to inform the owner of the café that they now did delivery.</p><p>"And I left the book I was reading on the counter, thank you, my dear."</p><p>"Which one?" Crowley asked as he surveyed the stack of books there. "The Ulysses? You reading that again?"</p><p>"Oh, no. I meant the Hogfather."</p><p>Crowley put a few books from one side to the other, searching for the one Aziraphale requested, but soon it became evident that it wasn't there. He continued searching in nearby shelves when he caught a faint sound of distress.</p><p>"Aziraphale?"</p><p>"I'm sorry, Crowley! It's not there, is it? I'm making myself a nuisance, unable to even remember where I put my book! Please don't bother yourself with it, I can read something else. Ulysses is fine."</p><p>"No, it's not," Crowley said firmly.</p><p>Aziraphale pushed the blanket aside. "No, I'm being ridiculous. I apologize for worrying you, my dear," he said and made a move to get up, but Crowley was at his side sooner and stayed him with a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>"Aziraphale, Listen to me. You are not being ridiculous. I'm a demon, yeah? Very selfish. If something's a bother, I don't do it. And finding your book? Not a bother at all. Especially if it means I can avoid Ulysses if you for some reason decide to read aloud later. Wouldn't mind the Hogfather, though."</p><p>"Not just finding the book," Aziraphale said shakily, pulling the blanket he threw away a moment ago around his shoulders as if he were suddenly feeling cold. "All of it. I'm being a bother…"</p><p>"No. You're not," Crowley said simply and adjusted the blanket to wrap Aziraphale better. "Now lie down and don't worry about anything. I'll make tea and find that book, and the soufflé should be here soon, too. Remember if something's a bother, I wouldn't do it, yeah?"</p><p>Aziraphale nodded faintly. He watched the demon's face for a while yet, but then he lied down again and huddled in the blanket.</p><p>Crowley left him there and hurried to the kitchen where he underwent a valiant fight with the tea kettle to make tea just like Aziraphale wanted. He made sure it's just the right temperature for drinking and pressed it into the angel's hand.</p><p>Then he went off in search of the Hogfather. "Ah! Got the bugger!" he finally exclaimed from the back of the shop where Aziraphale has been rearranging a shelf, apparently.</p><p>"Crowley! Don't call my books that!" came a voice from the sofa.</p><p>He grinned. That sounded better than the doubts before. Just as he made his way back with the book, the doorbell rang. The soufflé. He picked up the delivery and went to put it on a plate, arranging it with a few leaves or fresh mint.</p><p>He was going to pamper the angel and his ridiculous papercut as much as Aziraphale allowed him (and when it came to pampering, Aziraphale usually allowed him a lot). Because it wasn't about the papercut at all.</p>
<hr/><p>1953</p><p>"Uh, hello Crowley. Would it bother you terribly to come over? I got myself hurt - just a little, nothing serious, mind you. But I'd really like your company, my dear…"</p><p>Just a few minutes later, Crowley was in the bookshop, expecting… he wasn't sure what he was expecting. A lot of blood, probably. Aziraphale's definition of <em>nothing serious</em> tended to be loose at best.</p><p>Instead, he found a perfectly fine angel complaining about a papercut.</p><p>"Hng. Aziraphale. You called me because of <em>that</em>? I thought you're discorporating or something! <em>I</em> nearly discorporated from worry! And for no reason!"</p><p>"But it's a papercut!"</p><p>"Exactly! Can't you just miracle it away?"</p><p>"I can't, it was an evil grimoire!"</p><p>Crowley rolled his eyes. "Show me."</p><p>It was just a small papercut, with almost no blood. Crowley miracled it away theatrically. "There, better?"</p><p>Aziraphale smiled faintly. "Thank you, my dear," he said, but there was something out of place in his voice: just a slight, barely noticeable inflection, but to Crowley, it was like a false note in a musical piece he knew by heart. Aziraphale sounded almost disappointed and Crowley didn't know why. He did what the angel wanted, didn't he?</p><p>Aziraphale wasn't looking at him. "You must find me so silly, calling you about a papercut," he said quietly.</p><p>"Not at all," Crowley said, but couldn't keep a hint of confusion out of his voice. Not from Aziraphale, at least.</p><p>"I apologize, Crowley," Aziraphale said. "I didn't mean to scare you. I <em>told</em> you it's nothing serious."</p><p>Crowley scratched his head. "Yeah, you did actually. Sorry I overreacted."</p><p>"Oh, it's fine, my dear. Now that you're already here, would you like some wine?"</p><p>"Sure, angel."</p><p>Was it about that? Did Aziraphale just want his company? He could have asked in the first place, Crowley would be happy to provide it. He wasn't sure.</p>
<hr/><p>1961</p><p>It was a dreary morning. The bodies of ships were sticking out of the mist lying thick over the cargo port. It was too early to be out of bed and too cold to be outside, yet here he was, out of bed and outside and miserable. He kicked a stone and almost jumped when something clutched his elbow and dragged him behind some crates.</p><p>He didn't resist.</p><p>Even before he could react, he knew he didn't need to. When his conscious mind caught up a millisecond later, he knew why.</p><p>"What are you doing here, Crowley?" Aziraphale hissed.</p><p>"An assignment," the demon replied sharply, surprised by the hostility in Aziraphale's voice and grumpy for having to be there. "Didn't expect to run into you here."</p><p>"Me neither," Aziraphale frowned. "I've got an assignment as well, and I would very much appreciate it if you would get away from here."</p><p>"Can't," Crowley grumbled. "Unless you mind covering mine as well? You should have told me you'll be here, could save our time…"</p><p>Aziraphale shook his head urgently. "No. Out of question."</p><p>"Uh, fine. How about I cover yours then? You could go back to your warm bookshop, get a cup of tea, read something, eh? What do you think, angel? There's no reason for both of us to be cold and miserable."</p><p>"I'm sorry, Crowley," Aziraphale lowered his voice. "I can't. This… this assignment is outside of the Arrangement."</p><p>Crowley frowned, wondering what the hell that means.</p><p>"Please, just leave," Aziraphale insisted, and his unhappy expression made Crowley forget all about his assignment. The angel was on the verge of tears. He couldn't possibly say no.</p><p>"Yes, of course," he said softly and moved to do so when the air suddenly smelled of ozone.</p><p>An expression of panic flickered on Aziraphale's face. "Stay quiet!" he breathed out and did something with his hand. It smelled holy.</p><p>Then he rushed away, leaving Crowley alone behind the crates. He didn't even have time to move when...</p><p>"Ah, here you are! Late again, I see."</p><p>Crowley frowned at the condescending voice. He didn't recognize it, but it was definitely some high ranking wanker… er, angel.</p><p>"Ah, yes, my apologies," he heard Aziraphale saying. "I had to prepare for the mission properly…"</p><p>"Noted. It will be in the report. Now let's proceed."</p><p>Crowley's nostrils flared in anger.</p><p>"Yes, right," Aziraphale said, and Crowley could practically hear his nervous smile.</p><p>Then he didn't hear much that would make sense to him. Shifting of some crates, clinking of metal on metal. The smell of ozone again. It seemed like the other angel left, but Crowley didn't dare to reach out with his occult senses, afraid that he would reach something that could perceive him, and endanger Aziraphale that way.</p><p>But then something ethereal touched him and he recognized it immediately. Aziraphale! It was a distress call!</p><p>He jumped -</p><p>… and fell back.</p><p>There was an invisible wall.</p><p>He hit it with his fist.</p><p>It didn't yield.</p><p>That was what Aziraphale did with his hand. Trapped him here.</p><p>Crowley gritted his teeth and listened.</p><p>The distress was palpable, but there was something off. It didn't feel like Aziraphale specifically - he was too familiar with that feeling to discern it. This one was Aziraphale's but it felt more general, saying <em>oh look, an angel in peril. Trapped and without powers, oh dear oh dear, whatever shall he do?</em> A bit of the distress was true, but most of it was fake, like a theatre performance.</p><p>Crowley calmed a little, but his fear was soon replaced with anger. They were using Aziraphale as a bait. That's why he didn't want Crowley to take the assignment! Those assholes were. Using him. As a <em>bait</em>. But what were they trying to attract?</p><p>The minutes dragged. He tried to break the spell that was holding him but to no avail.</p><p>And then he heard snarls. He froze. Oh shit. Those sounds belonged to Hell, not here. Especially not anywhere close to his angel.</p><p>Then wailing.</p><p>He clenched his fists and listened carefully.</p><p>It seemed more and more creatures were drawn to the beacon of angelic distress. The sounds were infernal, but the throats producing them seemed human. Demonic possessions, then.</p><p><em>Oh shit oh shit oh shit</em>, Crowley thought, suddenly remembering a detail from his assignment about possible reinforcements. Downstairs apparently decided to send a bunch of lower demons up without even giving them a corporation and give a wholly new meaning to what seemed like a routine task to "get there and cause some trouble". Crowley imagined said trouble much differently. <em>Oh shit.</em></p><p>He gave the confining spell another push, but it held fast. It was holy, he couldn't break it. He hit the crate with his fist in frustration. Then he focused on the sounds. He was able to count seven distinct demonic snarls and wails. They were increasing in intensity. There were thuds and clatter of chains and the distress signal… oh no. That was a genuine one. No pretence in it.</p><p>If Aziraphale was the bait, where were the hunters? "Come on…" he muttered through gritted teeth. "What are you waiting for?"</p><p>Time passed torturously slow, filled with ugly sounds and Aziraphale's distress flaring more brightly with every moment.</p><p>An eighth snarl joined the cacophony.</p><p>Finally, the smell of ozone. Crowley never thought he would be glad for the arrival of another angel.</p><p>He reconsidered in the millisecond that it took for the blast of holy power to reach him.</p><p>Everything went white.</p><p>The light faded slowly, leaving ghostly shapes dancing on his retinas.</p><p>It was quiet.</p><p>He was unhurt.</p><p>With the level of the holy power, he should have been Downstairs by now, scraping his true form off the floor and hoping to get a new corporation within the next century.</p><p>Aziraphale's shield protected him from it.</p><p>He tried to push against it. It held firm.</p><p>"You bastard…" he muttered under his breath.</p><p>It was still quiet. He tried to sense Aziraphale's distress, but it was dull, barely there. He pushed at the barrier harder, panicking with the thoughts of what it could mean.</p><p>"What are you waiting for?" the other angel's voice cut the silence like an electrified knife.</p><p>Crowley held his breath.</p><p>"I-I'll be there on a jiffy. Just have to see about the humans. T-They must be confused, poor dears."</p><p>"Don't take long. I'll leave the portal open."</p><p>"Thank you. Very kind of you. Pip-pip."</p><p>Crowley closed his eyes in relief. A moment later, the shield around him was lifted. He looked up and saw Aziraphale.</p><p>The angel looked terrible.</p><p>His clothes were torn. Blood was dripping from deep scratches and bite marks, contrasting with the paleness of his skin.</p><p>"I'm sorry dear, I had to trap you here, there was no time for you to get away safely…"</p><p>"Aziraphale…"</p><p>"Sorry for the wait. Now if you could…"</p><p>"Angel..."</p><p>"Just leave now, I need to…"</p><p>"Aziraphale! Stand still and let me heal you!"</p><p>The angel froze. "I can't," he breathed out, his voice soft and shaking just a little.</p><p>"What?" The fury in Crowley's eyes burnt hot. "They've used you! They-They've used you as a bait! Why shouldn't I heal you?"</p><p>Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic, Crowley."</p><p>"Dramatic! I'm being dramatic?" Aziraphale was currently bleeding and looking like he went through a shredder but <em>he</em> was being dramatic?</p><p>"Yes, you are. This was a monitored assignment, I'm expected to show up by the celestial healers if I get hurt during it."</p><p>"Well, what are you waiting for then?" Crowley snarled, still getting overdramatic.</p><p>"I need to take care of the humans who were possessed. I just came to free you first. Please don't meddle into this, they may still be watching..."</p><p>"Ngk. Fine."</p><p>"Thank you, dear."</p><p>Before Crowley could say anything else, Aziraphale was away, calming and healing the humans who just a while ago attacked him - or the demons who controlled them did.</p><p>Crowley didn't dare to leave his spot while the portal to Heaven was still open, but he peeked out from behind the crates.</p><p>Aziraphale never acknowledged his own wounds while dealing with the humans. He was collected and kind, cheering them up. Must have put some distraction spell over himself since nobody else acknowledged his hurts either. But Crowley saw them. He longed to heal them, to close the gashes and make the bruises disappear and then mend the clothes until there's no trace of the horrible assignment left.</p><p>Aziraphale made sure all the humans would get home safely and only then stepped into the portal, staggering just a little.</p><p>Crowley was left alone.</p><p> </p><p>When his phone rang two days later, he picked up immediately. "Angel?"</p><p>"Oh, hello Crowley. I'm just calling you because I got another papercut. Silly me, I know. Would you mind coming, please?"</p><p>"I'm on my way, angel!"</p>
<hr/><p>2004</p><p>It wasn't about the papercut.</p><p>He has seen Aziraphale shrugging off much more serious wounds, claiming that he is fine while bleeding all over the place. He would pretend that he's not in excruciating pain just to not worry anyone.</p><p>But a papercut? That was no worrisome injury. One could laugh about a papercut. One could admit being hurt like that without troubling anyone.</p><p>It was not about the papercut.</p><p>It was about the need to feel cared for.</p><p>"How are the healers in Heaven?" Crowley asked once when he already understood there are some assignments that Aziraphale would not share with him.</p><p>"Oh, they're very efficient," Aziraphale said evasively.</p><p>And Crowley understood: they're impersonal. Cold. Seeing only your injuries but not you.</p><p>It was not about the papercut.</p><p>It was about the need for warmth. It was about the need to be acknowledged.</p><p>He couldn't heal Aziraphale when he's been hurt during such an assignment. But he could provide all of that. Not just to Aziraphale, but to himself as well. He <em>needed</em> to take care of the angel, to make him feel comfortable and seen.</p><p>The papercut was just an excuse for both of them.</p><p>"Here's your dessert, angel," he said, presenting the soufflé, arranged neatly on a flower-patterned plate.</p><p>Aziraphale's smile was a little shaky while accepting it. "Are you sure I'm not wasting your time, my dear?"</p><p>"Of course you're not," Crowley said with absolute certainty because Aziraphale needed that reassurance. The angel has been to Heaven for a few days - Crowley sensed his absence on Earth. He didn't ask about it, didn't press Aziraphale to tell him. But he did everything he could to replace whatever coldness and indifference Aziraphale was remembering with the thought that he is worth being cared for.</p><p>"Should I read to you while you eat the cake?" he asked and Aziraphale's smile blossomed again like a flower that has been watered after a long drought.</p><p>"Oh, would you be so kind?"</p><p>Now wasn't the time to protest being called kind. Instead of an answer, Crowley just took the book and opened it where a bookmark has been sticking out of it.</p><p>He started reading and basked in the increasing warmth from the aura of a content angel. It was like a drug. They rarely allowed themselves to indulge in moments like this one - it was too risky, too close to… something more. The little plaster with duck pattern on the angel's finger was an excuse they could hide behind safely. For now.</p>
<hr/><p>2019</p><p>The sound of the fire sirens sent an unpleasant jolt down Crowley's spine. Immediately he reached out for Aziraphale's presence.</p><p>It was there. Thank Go- S-Somebody.</p><p>It was there. He sighed in relief.</p><p>And then he jumped out of the sofa in his flat (nowadays much more comfortable than it used to be).</p><p>There was no distress signal.</p><p>That would be a good sign, only… there was no signal at all. When he focused, he could usually feel the little background hum of anxiety. These days, it was getting quieter and that pleased Crowley, but that it would be gone completely that soon and abruptly seemed unlikely. No, the angel was purposely shielding it.</p><p>Just like during those monitored assignments when he didn't want Crowley to know that he's in danger.</p><p>A vintage Bentley caught up with the firetruck just a moment later and followed it all the way to a burning building.</p><p>It wasn't the bookshop. It wasn't the bookshop, he kept reminding himself. It was a house of flats and a quick scan for auras revealed that all inhabitants were unharmed. How miraculous.</p><p>He parked the Bentley and ran towards the brightest aura. "Aziraphale!"</p><p>The angel was there. Relief flooded him together with concern. Aziraphale was standing there like nothing happened, with his hands clasped behind his back, but his clothes were covered in soot. It was smeared on his cheeks and in his hair.</p><p>He has been in that building. Burning building. With all the flames.</p><p>"Crowley, dear, what are you doing here?" Aziraphale asked. His voice sounded hoarse.</p><p>Crowley stared into the flames. A few streams of water hit the building.</p><p>"Crowley?"</p><p>He jerked his head away from the sight. "What are <em>you</em> doing here?" he asked more angrily than he intended.</p><p>"Helping," Aziraphale said simply, still keeping his hands behind his back.</p><p>"Why didn't you call me?" Crowley managed to hiss a sentence with no <em>s</em>. "Why are you doing it ssssecretly?" Now there was an <em>s</em> and also an accusation.</p><p>Aziraphale looked away. "I… didn't want to worry you, my dear," he said softly. "There were flames and… and I've got it, didn't really need help, I'd let you know if I did…"</p><p>Crowley's heart did a funny thing at the admission of Aziraphale's concern for him with the flames, but that didn't stop his scowling. "You worried me even more when you shielded your distress."</p><p>"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd notice…" Aziraphale looked like a kid caught red-handed doing something he knew he shouldn't.</p><p>Red-handed.</p><p>"Of course I'd notice," Crowley said in a low voice, looking at him intently. "Aziraphale. Show me your hands."</p><p>"I… uh…"</p><p>"Angel?"</p><p>"I'm fine!" Aziraphale snapped. Reluctantly though, he brought his hands from behind his back.</p><p>"Oh, angel…"</p><p>Aziraphale's hands were covered in burns.</p><p>"It's tickety-boo. I was just going to heal them. Just didn't have time yet, needed to make sure everyone was safe…"</p><p>Crowley sighed heavily. He looked more sad than angry now. He knew Aziraphale wasn't going to heal his hands just now. Healing yourself required full focus. It was much harder than healing someone else, a bit like operating on yourself. And Aziraphale looked exhausted already… "Angel, everyone is safe," he said after a quick look around.</p><p>Aziraphale followed his gaze. "Oh. Well then. Don't worry, dear boy. I'll just… find someplace to sit down and heal them in a jiffy."</p><p>"You can sit down in the Bentley," Crowley said, and his voice was surprisingly gentle. "Please," he added quietly.</p><p>Aziraphale cast his gaze down and obeyed, gingerly folding his hands in his lap and <em>not</em> healing them.</p><p>Crowley was studiously avoiding the sight of high-pressured streams of waters hitting the burning building. He got into the driver's seat and drove off without looking back. He wouldn't be able to focus here, either.</p><p>The ride was fast but smooth, without any jolts or sharp turns. Aziraphale never raised his eyes for its whole duration.</p><p>Soon enough, the Bentley parked in front of the bookshop and before Aziraphale moved from his seat, Crowley was already opening the door for him. As he led the angel inside the bookshop and seated him on the sofa, Aziraphale still didn't speak or look at him.</p><p>Crowley knelt in front of him and reached for his hands.</p><p>"Angel," he whispered. "May I?"</p><p>"I could have done it myself," Aziraphale said, banishing any traces of pain from his voice. "It's no problem. No reason to worry…"</p><p>"I know, Aziraphale," Crowley interrupted him softly. "I know you can handle it yourself. But you don't need to."</p><p>"There were flames."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"You don't like it when I'm too close to flames."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"I didn't want to worry you."</p><p>Crowley shook his head sadly. "I want to worry. And I want to take care of you when it matters. I don't want to hide behind papercuts anymore."</p><p>"Oh. You knew…?"</p><p>"Of course I did. But now you're not being watched by Heaven anymore. I'd like to watch over you instead if you'd allow it. Not to judge you, but to help."</p><p>"I really don't like to worry you, my dear. If you wouldn't find out, you wouldn't be upset now."</p><p>"Aziraphale. I'd very much prefer being upset and able to take care of you than not knowing at all."</p><p>"But you wouldn't know…"</p><p>"Would <em>you</em> prefer not knowing that I'm hurt or in trouble?"</p><p>Aziraphale bit his lip. "No. But that's you. When it's just me…"</p><p>Crowley gritted his teeth, a hint of fury seeping into his serpentine eyes. It was directed at Heaven, though, not on Aziraphale. "<em>Just</em> you?" he repeated. "<em>Just</em>? Aziraphale, you're the only person in the world that matters to me. Everything else is <em>just</em> something. But not you. Never you."</p><p>Aziraphale didn't say anything. But he didn't try to protest or argue against the point and that was enough to Crowley. For now.</p><p>"May I heal you now? Please?" he asked again.</p><p>Aziraphale nodded, his eyes tearing up a little.</p><p>"Good. That's good. Thank you. There's no reason to hide that it hurts, okay? No need to be concerned about worrying me. I've got you now, angel. I'll take care of you."</p><p>Aziraphale sighed shakily.</p><p>Crowley took the burnt hands and cradled them in his palms. He took a deep breath and focused on the healing.</p><p>He worried. Of course he worried. Of course he felt the angel's pain as if it were his own. But as the burns faded and with them the tension in the lines of Aziraphale's face, the worry was, too, washed away and replaced with something soft and warm.</p><p>It only grew when the angel allowed him to wash away the soot from his face and miracle clean his hair and clothes. (Once they'll get to the point when he won't feel self-conscious about asking Aziraphale if he could give him a bath. One step at a time, though.)</p><p>"Tea and chocolate soufflé?" he asked then, already arranging pillows on the sofa.</p><p>"That would be lovely. Thank you, my dear," Aziraphale smiled, slipping into their papercut routine after a short hesitation.</p><p>Crowley knew it wasn't easy. It required admitting that it's never been about the papercut before. It required being open with each other, after all the time when they couldn't be and needed such excuses.</p><p>"Of course, angel," he said softly. "I've got you now. I really do."</p>
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